


What Peace Brings

by forestofmyown



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Nightmares, Other, Reader-Insert, Redemption, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9304691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofmyown/pseuds/forestofmyown
Summary: You've been traveling with Erandur, both of you continually cursed with the nightmares of Vaermina's torture.  You turn to prayer, and subtle hints at self-forgiveness, for answers--not for yourself, but for the mer you've grown to love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another rewrite, originally posted at http://imaginingmyforest.tumblr.com/
> 
> TW: Mentions of nightmares, low self-esteem, guilt
> 
> Note: Theme of self-acceptance is attempted to be conveyed through Erandur's previous name. This is not in any way indicative of the author's views of anyone changing their name for any reason, or judging them for it. If it comes across that way, please let me know and I'll do my best to rewrite again to depict this better.

While you both suffer from the nightmares, neither of you mention it. You pretend everything’s normal, go about your days as though the two of you aren’t exhausted, that your nights aren’t spent in the thralls of Vearmina’s revenge. The Daedra is toying with you both, torturing you, and Erandur will speak nothing of it, you know, because his past still haunts him, because he believes this is his penance. And you don’t mention your own suffering because you know his is much, much worse. The knowledge would only be a further burden on him, and his soul is burdened enough.

It’s another sleepless night, and as you sit, fighting the fatigue that weighs your body down and slumps your shoulders as though in defeat, you watch the sky. You watch the sky so that you don’t watch him, as you’ve done too often at times, but instead of watching him you’re thinking of him, which probably isn’t much better. At least he won’t catch you like this, but you still sigh, staring determinedly at the stars. 

The dark sky is beautiful over the expanse of crystal white snow. You’ve been traveling together for some time and, though you won’t admit it to him, with no real purpose in mind. He’d offered his companionship and you’d accepted it. You don’t need a companion, though you miss company often on your lonely journeys, and you’ve gone through more than one traveling partner; it’s because you can’t leave him there alone in that place, where the dead bodies of his betrayed friends lay just beyond a door, with only a cold altar to his goddess to keep him company. His story, his quest for redemption, his sad eyes and solemn voice, they break your heart.

And you have the uncomfortable feeling that it will be broken all over again someday. In trying to pull one man tied down by demons from his darkness, you had gotten so much more than you’d bargained for. In your time together, you’ve felt it growing, more and more, these feelings of protectiveness towards him, compassion and even, at times, annoyance. You want him to heal, to move on, to accept himself and love himself and maybe someday love you. 

So far, loving him has only caused you more pain. If it isn’t Vaermina’s nightmares, it’s his own self-induced punishments, his denial of his own happiness and his indentured servitude to the goddess of, ironically, love. By Mara, you hadn’t meant to fall in love with him. It’s frustrating and infuriating and a fine line to walk, being so emotionally invested in someone who trusts you so much, who looks at you with those tired eyes and barely notices your flirtings.

Behind you, curled up on his mat and tucked under the warmth of furs, he stirs. You tense, knowing what little bit of peace he’d had till now has ended. His breathing becomes labored, groans fill the air, and you cringe away in shared agony as his first cries begin. 

You have to think of something else, have to distract yourself, block him out. You have to keep on pretending you hear nothing, that you don’t know. But even if you weren’t plagued by nightmares of your own, you still wouldn’t sleep at night, not with this. Your heart aches for him, burns your eyes and clenches your throat, digs your nails into your palms and gnaws your lip till it bleeds. If you try to open your mouth, you’ll choke. You growl instead, trying to be frustrated instead of helpless.

Slowly, you bring your shaking fingers to your gear and hunt out your blade and whetstone. After dropping it several times to the sound of the Dunmer’s pain, you finally are able to hold it steady and run the stone down the length. The deliberate, lengthy motions dull your mind, pulling it away, setting you into a monotonous rhythm that requires all your attention to keep from slipping and cutting yourself. The sound of it is searing, and you pretend his cries are only the sound of the metal beneath stone.

The process can only last so long, however, and soon enough you’ve sharpened all your weapons and his own, as well. Still, he sleeps, caught in the nightmares, and you grow worried. He’s never been trapped this long, not without waking up and spending his own lonely hours trying to stave off slumber before being recaptured by the curse. You’ve lain there almost every night, pretending to sleep, knowing he was doing his best not to wake you despite his turmoil. This feels wrong.

You give up your fight and settles down at his bed side. He’s on his back, arched up against some invisible force, his eyes tight closed and his face gnarled under the strain of heaving fits. Sweat drenches him, and his hood has slid back behind his neck, pulling, almost forming a noose. The idea scares you, and you move to take it off him. He looks smaller without it, thinner and frailer, his robes loose from his struggles and draping his skeletal frame. 

You take a moment, a guilty look, to admire his bare collarbone, the line and shape of his neck and shoulder that the falling fabric has revealed. Then you’re chastising yourself, a roll of your eyes and a click of your teeth, and reaching out to grab that shoulder with purpose. You shake him, just a bit.

“Erandur?”

He makes no response, not to your touch or call. You bite your lip, then try again. 

“Erandur?”

He cries out, voice rasping in breathless suffering, but it isn’t because of your efforts. It’s like he’s so deep in the thralls, he’s out of reach, and the idea is scaring you. You shake him more roughly this time, panic threatening. You’re being ridiculous, you know. He’s always awoken before, he will now, but you’ll just feel better once he opens his eyes so you allow your fear to guide you. You call his name again. And again.

It’s not working. Frantic, you search around, then comes back with a small bucket of water from a nearby stream. It’s freezing, and you feel bad doing this, so you try your best not to soak him. You trickle the liquid over his face, his eyes, and it runs down his cheeks, mingles with the sweat and dirt and facial hair. Your hands shake as the water splashes on your fingers, but your companion gives no sign the cold has penetrated his terrors.

Desperate, you start trying healing spells and potions, but you’re no expert, and none of them make any difference. You give his face a good slap, and are rewarded with further guilt and his continued thrashings, nothing else. 

“Oh, come on!” You cry, feeling helpless and useless and terrified that he’ll never open his eyes. Trapped forever in Vaermina’s realm, dead to all but the nightmares. "Wake up! Please, Erandur, wake up!“

You recall that Erandur isn’t his real name and wonder if maybe his subconscious doesn’t recognize it, still goes by his birth name. Or maybe it’ll just reach his guilt. Grasping at straws, you’re willing to try it. "Casimir?”

His body seizes, as though trying to hold itself, and you know he heard. He gasps again, and you lean over his chest, calling out. "Casimir! Casimir, wake up! I need you to wake up! Come on, please, Erandur, Casimir, whatever, just come back!“

His arm jerks towards you, grasping your hand tightly, holding it to him like a lifeline. His chest is heaving, but he rolls, curling up around you, and you have hope again, pounding in your ribcage. "Casimir! Fight the nightmares! Curse you, Vaermina, release him! Open your eyes, Casimir!”

With a final convulsion, the tension releases, leaving him in a heap around your body. His eyes are open, fluttering beneath his soggy locks, so you immediately move your fingers into his hair, pushing it back and out of his face. He’s still struggling for air, hand limp on you lap, eyes clouded with lingering fear. You keep up the soothing rhythm across his forehead, relief flooding you with all your tenderest feelings, feelings you’re not used to expressing. 

It takes several minutes, but he eventually calms, and moves to sit up. Your hand slips away, and you mourn the loss of contact with him instantly. He looks to you, eyes finally free of fear but still lost in pain and grief. "I’m sorry.“

You shake your head, dismissing the words, having known him long enough to realize he thought his very existence merited apology. Instead, you fix him with your worried gaze. "Are you alright?”

He nods, and you place your hand on his. You don’t believe him, but you also understand. "You wouldn’t wake up. No matter what I did, you just … “

"I fear Vaermina’s curse grows stronger, and so does her hold upon my sleeping consciousness. She can no longer feed off our memories, but the world of dreams is still her domain, and we are at her mercy there. Falling prey to brutality that the mind believes is real is just as dangerous as true torture.”

You move your hand up again, brushing his hair away, and settle it there against his cheek. You’re lost in his red eyes, that haze of sadness that seems to symbolize his entirety. Slowly, you ask again, searching that gaze. "Are you alright?“

He’s watching you in return, face much older than you know him to be, careful with his words. "I’m alright. Thank you, Y/N.”

Nodding, you let your hand drop. And suddenly you notice his robe again; skewed, revealing lengths of blue-gray skin down his legs, open at his chest. You take a selfish moment to reward yourself and stare, admiring.

“You called me Casimir.”

“What?” His words barely register, your mind is so intent upon his body.

“I could hear your voice, in my dreams,” he continued, unaware of your distraction. "You called me Casimir.“

"Right,” you nod, smile, try to bring yourself back to the moment. "You weren’t answering to Erandur. Casimir seemed to work, though. I figured, subconsciously, you’d probably recognize it, if you didn’t Erandur.“

Now would be a bad time to mention your feelings, you think, even though you’d been dying to for weeks. You’re terrible at this, timing and such. Erandur, however, has proven oblivious to most of your expressions of interest, and you’re beginning to think this will take something more blunt.

"I like it,” you add thoughtfully. "I know you’re trying to start over, redefine yourself, all that. But I like your name. It’s not something terrible.“

"It was … strange … to hear it again, and from someone who’s never called me by it before. I suppose you are the bridge between my old and new lives, the only one left that knows both Erandur and Casimir.” He says this as though it isn’t a good thing.

“It makes me feel special,” you perk up, raising your hands to straighten his open robes, even though you just want to stare at him more, even touch. "Like I’m the only one who knows all of you. The past, the present–and I’ll be around to see the future. The lessons you’ll learned, how you’ll grow and change. No matter who you are, I get to know you.“

"And you accept them all.”

“Of course.”

“It doesn’t bother you to travel around with a former Daedra worshipper, a coward who abandoned his friends?”

You grin. "Doesn’t it bother you to travel around with an escaped war criminal, the Dragonborn running from their responsibilities while dragons fly overhead, killing?“

"Daedra worship and betrayal are hardly comparable to fighting for a noble cause such as one’s freedom.”

“You’re right. A lot more people die on my account.”

He can’t argue with it, and you know it. Your smile is smug despite the somber topic and he knows it hurts you. "I’m sorry.“

"Stoppit.” You stick your tongue out playfully, then move to stand, picking up his hood and handing it to him just for something to do. He pulls it on, and you decide you rather likes it. His face, framed in the fabric, is a familiar sight, comfortable. "Well, I don’t think either one of us is gonna get any more sleep tonight. Shall we head out?“

"If that is what you wish.”

You roll your eyes and slap him on the shoulder, where it lingers momentarily before sliding off as you move forward. "Come on, then. Our destination is south-east!“

"And where exactly, might I ask, is our destination?”

You both gather up your things as he speaks, and you take a second to pause, watching him. "Does it matter?“

"I suppose it doesn’t.”

Because he’ll follow you anywhere, you know.

It has been another few sleepless nights, and both your tempers fluctuate with the winds. Silence has kept the peace in your company, and you know weariness is bearing down on you both, crushing your spirits. You wonder how much longer either of you can take this. You worry your relationship may not survive it, even if you both do.

The trees have grown more colorful with the trek south, the scenery a painting of reds, yellows, browns, and gold-orange, a rain of the gilded leaves pouring down around them. The weather is warmer, the air drier, and the ground beneath crunches, not from the crushing of snow-powder, but from the mixture of dirt, stone, and flora. The change in the land around you, if nothing else, gives rise to renewed feelings of hope, and you feel a smile creep back into place as you near the destination you’ve been keeping from your companion.

“Riften.”

His voice is gruff, curious, and pleased, you can tell. The hold is in sight, and you feel excitement growing as they approach. You turn around, continuing with your back pointed towards the city, and grin as you walk. "Riften.“

His eyes are brighter than you’ve ever seen them, filled with awe and hope and affection, all of which he tries to hide. He knows what’s here, though he doesn’t know that’s exactly why you’ve come. "I hear it’s a bad place. Do you have business there?”

“Some friends of mine I haven’t visited in awhile. Nothing sketchy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He nods, unable to pry his eyes from the city walls. You laugh, whirl around, and there’s a bit of a skip in your step as you make your way around to the front gates.

Inside, you’re instantly aware that, war ended or not, Riften hasn’t changed at all. Shady deals seem to be going down in every corner, low-lives fill the streets, and guards seem to be lost as to how to do their jobs. Shaking your head, you take Erandur’s hand and pull him along, keeping to the edge of the city, circling around the ring with purpose. You take him straight up the steps and through the door without giving him a chance to gather his bearings, and once you’re both inside and you finally stand still, he freezes in dawning wonder. 

He seems overcome by it, struck through the heart at the sight of his Lady’s statue, unable to look away. You find yourself struck similarly, eyes locked on his enraptured face.

“The Temple of Mara … ” He almost gasps, a breathless whisper escaping him. He’s still bowed from being half-dragged inside, but he rises now, slowly, taking everything in, from the rows of pews to the simple wood walls and floors, he’s caught up in experiencing this holy place.

You’re tickled with yourself, heart thundering in your chest as you watch his amazement. You had been hoping to cheer him with this, to surprise him and please him, lift his spirits after the torturous nights and tiring days. This is so much more than that. Just watching him, you feel like you’re falling in love all over again.

“Y/N!” Dinya has spotted you at the door, and the Dunmer priestess comes to greet you, a smile and a warm clasping of hands for her friend. "It’s so good to see you. It’s been some time.“

"Yes, it has,” you reply, doing your best to keep your eyes off your companion by glancing around fondly at the surroundings. "How’s the business been, hm? Any more missions from Our Lady I could help with?“

Erandur finally looks to you again, his bliss mingling with surprise to know you’re so familiar with this place, these people, their work. You grin, pleased.

"Not at the moment. Though we’ve had a few weddings in the past months, which has been wonderful. Lady Mara’s influence is as alive as ever.”

“Don’t I know it,” you smile softly, then blink the tenderness away and pull Erandur into the conversation. "Dinya, this is Erandur. He’s my traveling buddy, keeps me company and makes sure I don’t rush into something I can’t handle. And he’s a priest of Mara.“

"Really?” Dinya smiles her elegant smile, delighted at the news. "Wonderful to meet you, Brother. Welcome to the Temple of Mara.“

"Thank you, Sister. I’ve always wished to make the pilgrimage here … it’s an honor, truly.” His gaze drifts back to you, and the look in his eyes has you beaming before he finishes his words. "I cannot express how happy this has made me, Y/N. Thank you.“

You’re elated, glowing inside, and you know if you don’t do something quick, you’ll embarrass yourself; you want to kiss him. Instead, you wave him off and make your way down the aisle to the altar, where you kneel and motion for Erandur to join. "Come pray with me.”

He nods to Dinya to excuse himself and settles in beside you. Together, you bow your heads, and in silence, send petitions up to their goddess.

You don’t know what Erandur prays about, but your thoughts are centered on him. You wish Mara’s blessing upon him, her strength, her healing, her protection. You wish his guilt alleviated, his heart lightened, a world of happiness in his life. 

You wish he’ll love you. It’s the only wish you make for yourself.

When your prayer is done, you place your hand on the altar, heart heavy with your thoughts. You want your own relief from Vaermina’s retaliation, yes, but you care about him more; most. 

You’ve prayed for him before, you’ll continue to do so even after things are set right. But in this prayer, just in case, you call him Casimir.

You both settle into Honeyside for the night, thankful for a soft bed to share and a roof over your heads. Neither of you is eager for the usual attempt at rest, however, and much time is wasted to put off the task. Dinner is you’re favorite, as Erandur will eat anything and be grateful, to your annoyance. You stay up with books you’ve already read, practicing small spells on each other, discussing your next adventure, avoiding the large double bed that calls to your exhausted minds. Eventually, however, the dark of night gets to you both and you migrate quietly under the thick covers, backs pressed together in comforting camaraderie. 

You wake up rolled over, tucked tightly into Erandur’s arms. This situation would probably illicit apologies from him and flirtatious jokes from you normally, but you only stare quietly at each other, slow smiles conveying a shared message; it’s been a good night, the first in a long time. No tossing and turning, no waking and struggling back to sleep, no cold sweats and hot muscles, no nightmares. No Vaermina.

You snuggle yourself back in closer, resting your head against his chest, feeling the pulse of his blood and beat of his heart and steady breathing. His arm drapes over you, not holding, but not letting go. You stay like that for hours more, sleeping the day away. Noon passes and the two of you are still together, catching up on weeks of missed sleep, slumbering silently, soothingly. 

Dark has rolled around again by the time both your eyes are open, but neither of you stir. You would sooner fight a camp of giants than leave your piece of Sovengarde here in Erandur’s arms. He is as careful as ever; the slight twitch in his hand took over half an hour to turn into the slow stroking of his fingers in your hair. 

You are the first to break the silence, not because you need to or are uncomfortable or have something important to say. You only desire to improve upon perfection (just slightly) by adding his voice in the air, the deep, gravelly tones and thick accent, and the feel of his throat thrumming with his words. You don’t even know what you say, but soon enough you are conversing in the quiet of evening Riften, low and slow and with no purpose, just talking about whatever comes to mind, whatever keeps it going.

The moons are high in the sky by the time you finally get his favorite food out of him, and, with both eagerness and reluctance, raise up out of the bed and go to fix it. You eat the midnight breakfast together with more smiles and soft words, barely able to keep the joy and relief off your faces, barely able to keep their eyes off one another. you have suffered together, now triumphed together, and each holds that your salvation is the other, and Mara. 

You spend the night along the water, watching the stars flickering across the dark surface as Masser makes its journey across the sky. You are at peace, like neither has been in weeks, and you continue long into the morning perched there, feet hanging off the wooden walkway, talking and laughing and praising the goddess. You wander the marketplace at noon, buying things you don’t need and anything Erandur shows even the slightest interest in, no matter how he protests. Lunch is at the Bee and Barb, the afternoon spent with Maramal preaching in the streets, smiles on all your faces, enjoying another homemade meal together as the sun sinks away, and then seeking out the reassurance of each other’s bodies as you slip into bed and wait to see if the night before was a fluke, if you are truly free.

He’s still asleep when you open your eyes, and you simply bury your head back in his hair, unwilling to wake him. You smile to yourself at the irony that, after all the nights they you’ve slept together, in the same place, without sleeping together, lying awake in the dark, and never slept together, you’ve finally slept together two nights in a row while sleeping together, and yet you still haven’t slept together. You mark it down as next on your list of things to accomplish–right after you marry the darn man.

You want more nights and days like these, side by side. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to go back to sleeping alone after these nights together.

You don’t want to let him go.

When his eyes open, you’re watching. You wait, and the look in his eyes tell you what you need to know; he’s had another good night, just as you have, and you melt into each other with relief. He watches you closely, realizing something is up, something is happening here, and you meet his gaze with resolve. You let your palms trail down the folds of his hood until they reach his robe, which you take hold of. Lightly, you tug him closer, and the look you share leaves no room for misinterpretation. This is it.

Slowly, he lets you pull him in. You lift his chin and softly presses your lips to his. 

You want so much more. Instead, you leave it at that and lay back, letting it settle between you both. You sit in silence for many long minutes, and wonder if you’ve messed things up now.

“Y/N.”

You bite your lip before smirking, batting your eyes at him with a playfulness you don’t feel. "Casimir.“

He visibly starts at the name, and you make a note to keep using it when you’re alone. You like the effect it has on him, how special it makes you feel–that he’s okay with you using it, being the only one allowed to call him that. His face softens, and he just continues to stare at you curiously, and you wonder what he’s thinking, watching you so tenderly like that. It’s a bit too much on your heart, and you can’t help but kiss him again, whether he’s ready for it or not.

It takes several seconds, but he slowly kisses back. You revel in the triumph, cuddling closer as your lips move together.

His arms hold you tighter and your hands slip under his robes. You’re trying to control yourself, trying to move slowly for him, but you’re dying in the exaltation of the moment, drowning in his returned affection, and even he seems to be finding control difficult. When his own hands begin to roam he abruptly pulls free, clearing his throat in a visible effort to contain himself.

"I apologize.”

It’s always the first thing he says, a reflex, and you laugh.

“Never apologize to me.”

“Still-”

“No ‘still.’” You smile, perching yourself on your arm.

“We should speak about this, Y/N.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” 

He sighs. "We should consult Lady Mara.“

It’s a step in the right direction, as far as you are concerned. "Then let’s do that.”

A simple prayer with your amulets is not enough for Erandur, nor is finding a small alter. You arrive at the temple after a few minutes of debate, standing before the statue of the goddess in silent prayer for the second time in three days. You pray, again, for his love. For approval. 

He prays much longer than you do, and no matter how restless you feel standing beside him doing nothing, you remain still, waiting. When he finally unclasps his hands, you’ve been holding yourself in check for too long and launch immediately into what you want; something you’ve wanted to say for some time, and are excited to finally have out in the open.

“I want to marry you.”

He gazes at you. "Y/N … “

"Not much would change considering we already do everything together. It only gets better.” You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively.

“There are certain emotional obligations-”

“I already love you.”

His eyes flash up to yours, which are solid and clear. You smile sincerely.

“I love you. Our goddess would never be against it if you feel the same.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” You feel his fingers touch yours and look down as he takes your hand in his. "And I do feel the same, Y/N.“

He gives you a small smile, and you return it two-fold. His slips away after a moment.

"I am, however, hesitant. I don’t-”

“If you say 'deserve happiness’ I will slap you with a Horker.” You hold his gaze and he doesn’t continue. "If karma decides to come back around and punish you for past crimes then I’ll be right there with you to fight it. I will be even if we don’t marry. I promise you, Casimir, you will never be alone again, by choice or otherwise. Whether you deserve it or not, I want to make you happy. For as long as you want me.“

His glossy eyes convey his gratitude far better than his terse nod. You nod back.

"I want to marry you.”

He smiles again. A real one this time.

“Then we’re in the right place.”


End file.
